Between the Bars
by stilettov
Summary: or "Jim Wears the Broad Arrow". After the events of The Great Game, Jim is sprung from a MI6 max-sec facility by an unusual ally. Molly/Jim. PWP. NC-17.


_drink up, baby, look at the stars_

_and i'll kiss you again between the bars_

_where i'm seeing you there with your hands in the air_

_waiting to finally be caught_

He sat in the very corner of the cell, eschewing the bed for the floor, his knees gathered up to his chest. He was dressed in standard grey inmate pyjamas, not wearing the high-visibility garb of a high escape risk prisoner. Instead, a device had been affixed to his leg, a sensor cuff that was designed and fabricated by the shadow operation that surrounded Mycroft Holmes' minor position in the British Government. It was waterproof, encased in steel, virtually indestructible. There was even a transducer pad that attached to his skin, which would trip the sensor if removed, sending out an alert that would register on every police radar unit within a ten mile radius. Not to mention, it would create an earsplitting racket.

Essentially, Jim Moriarty had been tagged like an article of clothing at a fancy boutique. The irony did not escape him, but he was refusing to become angry. More than that, he was calm. His people were prepared for such an eventuality, but it was going to take some time to circumvent the security measures put in place by those clever, clever Holmes brothers.

It was going to take either extreme stealth, or a very sweeping, noisy gesture to get him out of this one, he thought grimly. Moran had escaped, but Jim was confident he had already set the contingency plan in motion. He knew, sooner or later, he would be free. That kept him calm. That kept him from going mad, climbing-the-bars-raging-salivating mad. But it was a close thing.

They did not set a guard on him. They did not trust a human being to keep a close enough watch on him. There was a camera, linked up to a server that was loaded with terabytes of hard drive space, recording everything, including sound. Well, there was no point to that: he hadn't said a word since his arrest. He hadn't said a word to his Crown-appointed attorney. He had said nothing.

He watched the floor, wondered at its thickness. The foundation probably went deep, making it difficult to blast through. He didn't know where he was, but he could guess: one of MI6's high security containment centres. Each cell was like his, he imagined, restricted in approach by a single corridor, walls probably also thick enough that a high impact blast would do little to affect their structural integrity. There were no windows, no ventilation, no breeze. The air was as still as a crypt.

It was lit continuously by florescent lights that buzzed something awful, and Jim knew it was another stratagem to loosen the cogs in the prisoner's mind, making it difficult to sleep, which again, was not a problem for Jim. He had not slept in a week. He had rested, had closed his eyes, his brain turning to randomness, but he had not truly slept.

He had stared. He had said nothing. Interrogations had proved useless, and his own counsel was deeply alienated from him by now. It was just noise, all of it. The hearing that was to come, that was noise, too. It didn't matter.

He had his eyes half closed when the clicking sound of heels suddenly aroused his attention. He saw feet, wearing sensible shoes with an inch or so of heel. His eyes travelled up along legs encased in black stockings. Corduroy skirt, navy, with a pattern of tiny pink roses. A fuzzy, pale pink jumper underneath a blue rain slicker, dotted with raindrops. And under the hood, the face of Molly Hooper, pale, inscrutable except for a tiny, teensy wisp of smile.

"Jim," she said, and there was just a trace of laughter in her voice.

"Molly. What...?" He looked into her eyes, and his voice was hoard from disuse.

"What am I doing here?" she finished for him. "I just...I wanted to visit."

"Liar," he said, lifting himself from the floor, his joints popping audibly. "You came to gloat."

"I did tell you," she said lightly, stepping forward, a sympathetic smile creasing her features. "I warned you, Jim. I told you he'd win."

"I missed you," he said without sincerity, coming right up against the bars. "Come here. I want to kiss you hello."

She smiled broadly and stepped forward, just out of arms' reach. What was this, he wondered? Molly had never struck him as the type, but then, the last time he'd seen her, hadn't he learned not to try and predict her?

"Why are you here?" he said flatly.

"I had a call. About you," she said, and now her voice was quieter.

She leaned forward just a little, close enough that he could reach through the bars and wring her neck if he wanted to. But he waited, waited to see what she said. Then she advanced against the bars quickly enough that it made him step back in surprise. She wrapped her fingers around the bars and let her forehead just rest against the metal as she watched him.

"I missed you, too," she said, and there was something in her eyes that he could not fathom. Something familiar.

Carefully, he reached out and touched her cheek, stroked his knuckles against it, and she closed her eyes lazily, like a cat. He almost expected her to purr.

"Did you," he said, his voice quiet as hers, now. "Did you really miss me?"

"I had a call," she continued, as if the moment hadn't happened. "And there was a little box left for me in a locker at my gym. A present."

"A present," Jim reiterated.

"For you," she continued.

"Molly..."

"Sh," she said, and now she reached through and touched his face, fingers running along his skin, rough from lack of shaving, dangerously close to his mouth, his sharp teeth. "Let me finish."

"You always finish before me," he teased, but his heart was not in it. If she didn't stop playing with him, he was going to have to reach through the bars and shake it out of her.

"I had a little chat with your friend. He wanted to know if I was serious about you. His name was Sebastian. He said he needed my help."

His eyebrows shot up. "Seb called you?"

She nodded.

"And you said you'd help him?"

"I did."

Now that she was closer, he noticed something. It was a faint scent, a metallic scent, combined with something a little more organic, like...raw meat. He couldn't pinpoint it. She'd probably been cutting up corpses earlier in the day. Something like that. His sense of smell had been heightened by a lack of things to smell, other than paint, and metal.

"Molly," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Have you considered what you're doing?"

His hand slid down to her throat, feeling the warmth of her skin, her beating pulse. She leaned into him, trusting him. He felt a sudden twist in his abdomen. He wanted her. He really had missed her. It hadn't even occurred to him until now. They'd been interrupted last time, before he'd really gotten a chance to see what she was made of. How far she was willing to go.

"I've considered it," she said dreamily, touching his hand. "You were right. I don't want to be bored any more. I don't want to hold back."

She leaned in close and licked him through the bars, licked his parted lips. He licked his own lips, finding that there was just a trace of strawberry from that strawberry gloss she wore. He loved the way it tasted. He wanted to taste her.

"You have a purse," he observed. "Why did they let you in here with a purse?"

"They know me," she explained. "I'm just Molly Hooper, remember?"

"I forgot." He grinned.

Out of the purse, she pulled what appeared to be a vintage mobile phone. It was a blocky thing, black, and unremarkable. She flipped it open.

"This is your present," she said. "From Sebastian."

She pressed the "send" key, and something very odd happened. The lights made a sizzling noise, flickered, once, twice, then died. The camera, which had been making continuous sweeps back and forth, froze completely. He looked down, and saw that that LED light on the sensor cuff had died. The electronic catch released, and it fell away. Best of all, the cell door suddenly loosed itself.

It was difficult to see all of this in the darkness, but the door at the end of the hall had been left open, and there was just enough yellow light filtering in from an outside street lamp that he could dimly perceive the shape of Molly pushing the door into its recess and approaching him. She bent down on her knees and quickly tore the transducer pad off his skin, taking a bit of hair with him. He grunted in pain, but then she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his skin. She straightened, and in the dark, he could just see her grin.

"I didn't really think that would work," she said, looking down at the phone. Jim took it from her, and hefted it.

"Electromagnetic pulse," he said wonderingly. "Some kind of dampener. Sebastian used to be special ops, he knew this place wouldn't be susceptible from the outside."

She smiled.

He glanced up at her. "They really just let you walk in here?"

She shrugged. "Yeah."

"Molly."

There was something in her tone that wasn't quite on the level. But before he could make a further investigation, she had wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "Later."

"We should leave," he said, just a little apprehensive. "Now."

"We have time," she said confidently. "A little time, anyway."

"Time for what?"

His question was answered as his hand was suddenly led to her thigh. Unable to stop himself, he let it wander under her skirt, until it was halted abruptly by something metal, and solid. With a renewed sense of amazement, he lifted the little revolver out of the garter. There had been several shots discharged, and Jim suddenly realised that the meaty smell he'd detected was the splash of blood that stained the knee of her panty-hose.

"Molly," he said breathlessly.

"You'd be surprised," she said softly, oh-so-softly, inches from him now. "They just look like "clients" now, you know. A little messier. I could already see them arriving, seeing them go straight on the table, waiting for Sherlock to unzip them."

"Sherlock." The word twisted uncomfortably in his mouth.

She giggled. "He'll be delighted, you know. He'll be thrilled that you're out. He's ever so depressed without you."

"Is this about pleasing Sherlock, now?" he said, feeling just a quiver of jealousy.

"It's about pleasing me," she replied, giving him a shove. Taken unawares, he felt the breath knock out of him as he landed against the wall. Then claws, dragging down his chest, moving under his inmate shirt. Then one hand moving south, just dipping under the elastic band of the grey, featureless trousers. Except now they were featuring a major hard-on, because what she was doing...

Her mouth was wet and soft against his as she worked him with that hand, and soon he was whimpering. "They didn't anticipate a thing," she confided in his ear, letting her fingers just ride along the surface of his skin. "Never saw me coming."

She chuckled again, a dark, sex-laced sound that made his whole body tighten. He'd had enough teasing. He seized her, grasped her hair and pulled it out of its pony tail, then pushed her back into the opposite wall just as viciously as she'd done, slamming her against it hard enough that she let out a little gasp, and her breasts heaved as she tried to catch her breath.

He didn't give her the opportunity, sealing his mouth over hers, thrusting her tongue into it, then breathing into her. She moaned into his mouth, the reins of control slipping from her fingers.

"Think I'll see you coming?" he asked, kissing her now swollen lips, leaning down to nip at her throat. "I think I want to feel you coming."

"Jim," she said, and now there was nothing but want in her voice, so much need injected into that one syllable.

"We've got time?"

She looked at him through misted eyes. "Do you care?"

"Point taken." He hiked up her skirt with both hands, and shoved one between her legs, dragging her underwear to the side. She was slippery wet, and he lifted his hand to his mouth, sucking the taste of her off his fingers. Seizing her by the thighs, he lifted her against the wall, and she reached down and guided him into her.

He groaned, all that frustration, all that rage pouring out of him, translating into the ruthless, violent thrusts as he inflicted himself on her, not caring that he might be hurting her, just needing to sustain the feeling, the overwhelming sensation. He'd been buried alive here, trapped in this tomb with nothing to stimulate him, interminable boredom that threatened engulf him. But not any more. He wasn't bored any more.

Now Molly was engulfing him. She was wrapped around him like lichen, whimpering into his hair as she held fast to him. He could feel her shaking, hear her breath rattling inside her lungs, his face pressed into her breasts, feeling her heartbeat, which was fluttering, irregular.

She came without warning, seizing, going as stiff as rigor, vicelike around him. He couldn't sustain it any longer, the wave breaking over him as his legs went out from under him and together they slid to the ground, Molly astride him.

She was panting, but apparently, she wasn't done yet. She was flushed, and she peeled off the jumper to reveal a red lace bra that was beautifully transparant. He put his hands on her hips as she started to ride him, watching him closely, back in control now. He felt himself being coaxed back into hardness, which wasn't surprising, given he hadn't bothered giving himself any satisfaction any time in the past few weeks. He watched her, hypnotised, his hand finding its way along the firm muscles of her abdomen, up to her breasts, soft in their lace cage. He pulled himself up into an-almost sitting position, wrapping one arm around the small of her back to steady her as she arched, head tossed back, letting out a very impressive cry of pleasure as she came again.

He didn't give her the chance to ride it out, but seized her and shoved her on to her front. It was still rippling through her, and she whimpered as he entered her from behind, tightening his hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and evoking delectable little noises of pleasure or pain, he didn't know which. He didn't care.

He laid his full weight on top of her as he thrust into her once, twice, tongue in her ear, making her squirm in a way that was just enough to light him up. He came again, not as hard, but it was just as pleasurable, if not more, with Molly panting underneath him, tears rolling down her face, head turned, biting into the flesh of her forearm to keep from screaming again.

Jim licked a finger, reached down and slid it against her clit. There was just the tiniest sound from her, just a few rolling twitches, and then she lay absolutely still, eyes half-closed, breathing through her open mouth, red and raw from his sand-paper kisses.

They lay like that for maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. Jim wondered at himself; he would've thought nothing could have induced him to stay in that cell a moment longer than he had to. Now he sort of didn't want to leave.

"We should go," Molly said.

Jim kissed her shoulder, biting into the flesh, making her wince. He spent another minute tonguing the mark, then reluctantly picked himself up, and lifted off her.

Molly ran a hand through her hair, and rolled on to her back, looking up at him with a sexy, sleepy expression that was dangerously close to making him hard again. Time for that later. He offered his hand and she gripped it, pulling herself up.

"We have left so much DNA evidence," she lamented, looking around.

Jim handed her back her jumper. "Are you really going back to the lab tomorrow?"

"Maybe," she said with a mysterious grin, then squeaked as Jim reached forward and gave her a good squeeze on the arse.

"Come on."

They made their way through to the ante-room, where the guard monitoring the CCTV was sprawled over the control board, blood spattered over the monitors.

"Yours?" Jim said, indicating the body.

"Mm," she nodded, unconcerned.

"You didn't feel anything?"

"I did," she said, a little regret in her voice, but then she brightened. "But then, I just thought...he's another corpse in the making. We're all just corpses in the making."

Jim said nothing, but stroked the base of her neck. They continued on to the front lobby, which was, to put it lightly, a horror show. Two policemen and another guard had all been given the coup de grace. Molly, unconcerned, stepped over one as she made her way towards the door. Jim, who had paused to take in the scene, followed behind her.

Sebastian was waiting outside in the rain, having a smoke, his tall form leaning against the bonnet of a black limo. Jim gave him a little two fingered wave, and he just jerked his head in acknowledgement. He tossed the fag away and turned, opening the back door for Molly.

"Thanks," Molly chirped with a smile, and slid into the back seat.

Jim grinned at Sebastian. "I liked your present."

"I knew you would," the sniper replied dryly, no hint of irony. "She's cute."

"Isn't she. That was a nice touch, the massacre."

"That was her idea."

"Really," Jim said with raised eyebrows.

Sebastian nodded, then got into the driver's seat. Jim exhaled, felt a little ripple of lust travel up his spine, then joined his girl in the back seat. They pulled away from the curb, and she gave him a sweet smile. He put an arm around her, and she tucked her head under his neck.

"Where are we going?" she asked quietly.

"No idea."

"You'll have someone feed Toby til I can pick him up."

"Of course, darling," Jim said automatically. Then something occurred to him. "You know, that little EMP you sent out erased any footage or record of your presence there. You could go home, if you wanted. You don't have to.."

"I don't know," she said with a yawn. "I was thinking of using my holiday time, anyway. Maybe later, I'll go back."

Jim said nothing, but stroked her hair, and smiled to himself. Sebastian really did have some scruples, he thought, tapping Molly for this. She was still welcome in enemy territory. In his hands she was a virtually unassailable advantage. But he happened to agree with her: it was time for a holiday. A very, very long holiday.

"The next time you kill for me, make sure I'm there to watch," he whispered into her ear.  
>She didn't look at him, just smiled, and he could feel it against his chest.<p>

"Soon," she promised. 


End file.
